


The Aisle

by bookworm03



Series: Adult Relationships [13]
Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Best Friends, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm03/pseuds/bookworm03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leslie's drunk and sad and Ben's there. Post high school best friends AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aisle

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this and put it on tumblr and since it's kind of part of this universe, decided I should share it here as well.

She sees his headlights in her periphery, but the world is spinning so it’s hard to really know what direction they’re coming from.

Actually it might be her head that’s spinning. Possibly because of the at least 1/3 empty bottle of whiskey beside her in addition to the three Leslie-tinis she’d had at The Bulge. And then the two flaming tequila shots she’d had at that pub she could never remember the name of because it was something stupid and rhymey.

Cindy Eckhert is engaged. Not to Ben, which is good, because Ben is probably the love of her life and though she imagines he’ll be engaged at some point and making some other girl very happy, that point isn’t right now and that’s not why she’s upset.

She’s upset because, unlike most girls, Leslie dreamed about being President, not a princess or planning her wedding. She dreamed about doing good work and creating sweeping change for the better and serving the community and all wonderful things her mother was proud of her for. She had never centered her life around one silly, specific date that hinged on finding a guy you loved enough to marry. Did she want to? Of course. Did her life plan hinge on that? No. Definitely not.

Except now, over halfway through her 20s, Leslie is realizing she hadn’t spared much thought at all to the…logistics of her wedding.

She had no one to walk her down the aisle.

Because her dad was dead and he had been for almost seventeen years and while most days she carried that with her as a tiny little knot in her chest and hoped he would be proud of her too, today it was raw. Today the knot was emptiness and pain and she felt his absence in a way she rarely did anymore. From the age of ten onward she never had anyone to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day.

Which…kind of really super sucks.

So, alcohol.

She sees his dark slacks - he saves the tan ones for spring and summer - out of the corner of her eye. She’s slumped sideways, her cheek pressed to cold stone and Ben’s shoes seeming too large to belong to him for some reason.

“Les,” the figure crouches and while the rest of him may seem different, that voice is all his. That’s the voice she needed for this particularly horrendous bottoming out. He slumps beside her and reaches for the bottle, prying it out of her hands.

“How much have you had?”

She senses him wincing when she slurs through her alcohol consumption for the evening.

“Good lord.”

“I’m d-ery vrunky.”

“You are,” he reaches out and touches her back. “Is Ann working?”

“No.”

“But you called me.”

She nods instead of speaking because speaking seems to take too much energy and she’s very sleepy now that Ben’s here to make sure raccoons don’t eat her warm, fleshy corpse. Because, also it’s Christmas Eve eve and snowing, and surely raccoons would like a hot meal over a cold one -

“Where are your keys?”

Leslie shrugs, because she really has no idea. Ben reaches for her purse that she’d apparently kicked to the side and starts digging through it until she hears them jingle. She half explains that a cab had brought her home and she somehow made it to the steps and feels Ben tense, anger bubbling within him. Leslie knows why. He hates when she’s left to fend for herself when she truly needs someone to help her. He gets her door unlocked above her and she whines and holds up her arms.

“Ben, up.”

She’s kind of like a child and definitely petulant, but he lifts her anyway and oh god he’s so warm. She hadn’t realized how frozen she was or how long she’d been out there until she presses against his body and feels the chill leave her. Ben shudders and wraps his coat around both of them as he shuffles her inside.

“Jesus Christ, Leslie, are you trying to give yourself hypothermia?”

“N-no,” she whimpers as he closes the door, because as her muscles unthaw they start to twist and writhe and it’s agony. She starts sobbing into his chest and Ben wraps her up tighter, his big, strong hands sliding over her back.

“I’m going to murder that cab driver.”

She laughs through her tears as his face falls to her hair. “Or phone the company in the morning and ask why they think it’s okay to leave a drunk person outside in 12 degree weather.”

Her legs start to buckle, but he holds her steady, removing his coat and ushering her into the other room, away from the draft. Soon she’s wrapped in a quilt and sat on the couch and Ben’s starting a fire. She misses him, remembers why she called him before Ann (even though she found Ann’s name first in her phone). Ben’s warm, solid and protective, and Ann couldn’t have carried her anywhere - even if Ann is a beautiful, strong musk ox.

“Shrindy’s insaged.”

Ben turns around as he drops a match into some crinkled newspapers and the fire springs to life.

“Huh?”

“Shrindy - Cindy…s’ensaged.”

“Oh,” he nods and moves over to the couch. “Yeah, I heard.”

“You…sad?”

“No.” Ben kisses her forehead and settles it in his lap as the heat from the fire finally hits her. God, that’s good. That’s perfect. It would be amazing with anyone, but with Ben’s hand stroking her hair it’s…everything. She tries to lift up to see his face, but everything hurts too much. It’s then she notices her tree. Ben’s hand stops.

“We did a good job.”

He’d helped her decorate it the day after Thanksgiving when Ann was still in Michigan. God, she loves him so much.

“Uh huh.”

They don’t say anything for twenty minutes after that, Leslie taking an occasional sip of gatorade through a straw while Ben holds her head to keep her from choking. The room’s a pleasant temperature now, and she feels like she could sleep there forever. Until -

“I feel sick,” she whispers. Ben nods.

“You should throw up before you sleep.”

It comes as soon as her head’s over the toilet with no prompting. Three times in quick succession and then a fourth after a few minutes lying on the cold tiled floor. Ben’s hand stays on her back through it all.

“No, I was right the first time, I’m murdering that cab driver,” he surveys her dress shirt and slacks and finally, when she’s done throwing up, carries her upstairs. The fire’s still roaring, but Ben promises they’ll go back to it once she’s showered and changed - which he helps her do and, again, murmurs she should’ve called Ann as he helps unclasp her bra and still tries to avert his gaze.

He might see her naked. She doesn’t really care right now.

“My dad would’ve liked you,” it comes out when she’s dressed again in fleece bottoms and a long sleeved t-shirt, her nipples erect against the soft cotton, draped across him, back in front of the fire. Ben flinches against her.

“At least, I think he would’ve.”

“Oh,” he clears his throat as realization seems to wash over him. “Leslie.”

“I don’t…” she turns and slumps into his chest. “I don’t know why it’s hitting me now. That my dad won’t be at my wedding, or why…I’ve never even really  _thought_ about my wedding and now…”

He doesn’t say anything. Just takes her hand and threads their fingers together.

“I love you,” she breathes into his knee. She feels better and worse at the same time. Better being with him, being taken care of in a way she’d never ask for but would never reject, and worse because her buzz is falling away and all that’s left is a dizzying headache and pain. A lot of pain.

“I love you too.”

“Thanks for coming.”

He doesn’t say anything, just cards his fingers through her matted curls. Because saying it would be redundant. Ben would always come if she needed him. Always.

“Can we watch a  _It’s a Wonderful Life_  now?”

He laughs softly and presses his lips to her ear. “Sure thing, buttercup.”

She dozes in his lap, the sounds of the crackling fire and George Bailey’s voice cutting through the otherwise silent house. Ben’s hand is still in her hair.

“You know your mom will be there and Ann’ll be there, and I’ll be there,” he leans down and presses his lips to her earlobe. “Wherever you want me.”

Leslie smiles in her sleepy haze and curls their fingers together. She can think the words, even if she can’t say them.

_At the end of the aisle._

Obviously, Ben.


End file.
